Borrowed Time
by LittleB1ackDress
Summary: Season 1, Rayna and Deacon sneaking around during the all too short time they were back together.


The bus pulls away from the city, headed for Knoxville, she thinks. She isn't really concentrating; there's still a tingling between her legs, a ghostly remnant of him pounding into her against the shower cubicle in his bathroom less than an hour ago, and it's all she can think about.

She aches for him as the bus take her further from where he stands, discreetly placed beside his truck at the far edge of the Sound Check parking lot. They'd driven there separately, meeting behind the building to say goodbye and swap lingering kisses that made them forget they'd be spending their nights alone once they let go.

They feel distinctly like they're teenagers again, sneaking around and feeling each other up when no one is looking. It isn't too far from the truth; Rayna's doorstep confession of love came a week and a half ago, and they've been careful not to rouse suspicion since. Their relationship has always been a rocky - albeit beautiful - mess, and it's enough to navigate when only the two of them are involved. There will be time for delicate explanations to children and grudging acceptance from ex-husbands later, but for now Rayna longs only for him to be in her arms, their secret safely only theirs.

'Come back to me soon,' he'd said to her as she'd played with the hair at the nape of his neck and made him shiver.

'I don't want to leave you in the first place,' she'd told him, fighting the urge to cry and telling herself it was silly that she would need to.

Three weeks. She's supposed to be away from him for three weeks. She's never liked being away from him, not for a single day in all the time they've known each other, but now, at such a crucial time for them, she doesn't know how she'll be able to do it. Ten glorious days of being back in each other's arms and they're separated again - it seems fitting, somehow, but she tries not to dwell on it as she sighs and moves to sit on one of the plush sofas at the back of the bus, taking out her phone to text him.

He beats her to it; there is an envelope already on the screen when she plucks it from her bag and she clicks on the icon, his name sending a flutter across her stomach when it pops up.

'_Turn around_,' it says. '_I can't spend this long without you_.'

'_So don't_,' she texts back before she can think it through.

Her resolve never has lasted long when it comes to Deacon.

He joins her in Williamsburg. Two whole days is all they could manage apart, phonecalls and fingers getting them through both nights - and the second morning and a desperate bathroom break quickie - before she deems it safe enough for him to sneak into her hotel while everyone is at rehearsal. They plan it meticulously, Bucky their trusted accomplice, despite the misgivings Rayna knows he has about the rekindling of her volatile relationship with Deacon. He arranges for a second key to her room, and meets Deacon by the lifts in the lobby for the discreet exchange while she's at the venue. He isn't to leave the room until after Rayna has checked out a couple of days later, as per their agreement, one he's more than happy with. The band won't see him, Juliette thinks he's in Nashville, busy being fired, and the press have no idea their next headline is shirtless and raiding Rayna Jaymes' minibar for soda.

'_I want to rip your panties off_,' he texts when she's about to go on stage - a timing he chooses purposefully. It's a game they have always played; get each other riled up so they simmer and burn while they sing, horny and frustrated and channelling it all into their music. Their sex, the second they can get each other alone, is all the more explosive for their public foreplay.

'_What panties?_' she replies, always one to match his moves.

'_FUCK. I want you like hell, Ray. I just sniffed the towel you used to dry your hair this morning. It's getting pathetic in here_.'

'_I'll put you out of your misery the second I'm done_….'

Her show goes by slower than usual, and it takes everything she has not to run down the corridor and get the hell out of there the second she gets backstage. He's been in the same town as her for hours and not being able to see him, let alone get her hands on him, has been driving her just as crazy as it has him.

'I'll make your excuses at the aftershow,' Bucky tells her in a quiet voice as he walks next to her, trying to keep up with her long strides. She kisses him on the cheek as she pushes open her dressing room door.

'Thanks Buck. I appreciate it - a lot. I'll see you at breakfast.'

She doesn't see him at breakfast. She sees her hotel room ceiling and feels the cold wood of the headboard slats beneath her fingers as she grips them tightly while Deacon enjoys his own breakfast. She sees his head moving under the sheets, hears him moan raggedly as his tongue dips deep inside her, a hand pinning one of her thighs to the bed while the fingers of his other stroke her agonisingly slowly. She digs her toes into his shoulder and arches her back, unable to do anything but suck in rasping breaths and hiss his name.

She'd launched herself at him the instant she'd gotten through the door the night before, and he'd come good on his wish to rip her underwear off; he'd had her bra halfway across the room before she'd even kicked her shoes off. He'd fucked her up against the wall the second she'd yanked his zipper down, her skirt pushed up and the buttons of her shirt wrenched from their holes in a frenzy created by both of their hands.

They'd made up for their short, unbearable absence: once, twice, three times - in the living room, on the couch, in the shower, and when they'd finally collapsed into bed, exhausted and spent, Deacon's fingers toying with her nipples had turned them both on all over again and he'd rolled her onto her back and made her come until she was sore.

'Will you be okay?' she asks as she picks up her bag, late for a pre-show meeting with her bandleader and Bucky. Deacon is on the couch, no socks, sweat pants, and she can't help the tightening in her stomach as she looks at him. His T-shirt is tight, the muscles of his chest and arms trying to bulge free, and not for the first time she curses having to leave him.

'Don't worry about me darlin',' he says, giving her a grin. 'I've got a date with the remote.' He motions up at the TV, flicking the channel as Carrie Bradshaw flits across the screen, and Rayna hides a smile, shaking her head. 'I know you're comin' back to me,' he says, 'that's all I care about.'

'I wish you could come with me Deacon,' she tells him, sitting down and resting her head on his shoulder. He kisses her temple, slipping his arms around her waist and gathering her close.

'I do too. If only I didn't keep workin' for these divas who fire me every five minutes.'

Rayna laughs. 'Well you will mix business with pleasure.'

'I seem to recall you're the common denominator in these scenarios, Ray.' He looks at her with a glint in his eye. 'And you come ready-mixed with pleasure…'

She waits for the elevator, reluctantly getting on when the doors open with a ping, and to console herself she replays how Deacon had made her knees turn to liquid when he'd kissed her in one so recently and a lifetime ago. She'd still been married to Teddy then; she still is, on paper, but that's the only place. Her wedding ring is dead and buried in the depths of a designer handbag she slung in a cupboard, the divorce well on its way to being finalised; she is free, in this respect at least.

In many ways it feels like it did before, when they were just kids playing at being country music stars. Sneaking around on tour, sharing hotel rooms, trying for all of two minutes a day to keep their hands off each other. But the differences are big ones. Deacon isn't her guitar player anymore, and how she misses him being on stage with her, misses the music they made together. And there is Maddie… but Rayna has made her decision. If she is going to do this - and she cannot do anything else, she wants him so badly there is no option but this - then she will have to keep her shit together. She knows things could change, that one day there might be a right time to tell him, but right now she has pushed it to the back of her mind, letting her focus be on them being _happy_, for the first time in so long. She sees the absolute love in Deacon's eyes when he looks at her and happy feels like it is enough.

That night he's in her dressing room when she returns after her show.

'How did you get in here?!' she asks even as she remembers Bucky's parting wink. 'That man could be a government spy.' She rushes to Deacon, twining her arms around his neck and kissing him eagerly.

'Is this gonna become a habit?' she asks as he nibbles on her lip. 'You gonna start sneaking in here in a fruit basket?'

'I was thinkin' more in a guitar case,' he says, his hands disappearing under the hem of her top and smoothing their way up over her stomach, over her ribs. 'It's a bit more manly than havin' a banana on my head, don't you think?'

'Hmm, I can think of a lot of manly things about you…'

'Oh really?' He presses his hips into hers, less than subtly reminding her exactly how much of a man he is. Rayna hums happily.

'Mmhmm.'

'Did you have a good show baby?' he asks, nuzzling her neck with his stubble. His fingers creep higher, his thumbs grazing the underwiring of her bra, and he snakes his hand around to her back, popping the clasp with ease.

'Yeah,' she replies, 'it was fun, it went…' She forgets her train of thought as he licks her ear, sending shivers through her whole body. 'It went…on too long,' she tries again.

The sex has always been unbelievably hot with them, their appetites for each other insatiable, but since they got back together there has been an added edge to it; they know what it is not to have it, to have instead an ever-present longing in the pits of their stomachs, and every touch and word has been coloured with their gratitude at finally being back where they belong: with each other.

Rayna feels herself pulse with anticipation as Deacon backs her towards the full length mirror affixed to the opposite wall. He peels her top over her head and tosses her bra to the floor on the way, and as she hits the mirror his hands move to her hips, holding her there, his lips descending to her breasts. He sucks one of her nipples into his mouth and bites down on it, and she feels the glass cold against her skin while heat floods through her everywhere else.

'Jesus,' she whispers, and Deacon bites down harder in response.

'I missed you,' he tells her, moving back up and kissing her. She smiles against his lips, nodding her head - she missed him too. She wonders how the hell they managed to go fourteen years without this.

Her nails scrape the skin of his neck teasingly as she kisses him back, and he moans, his lips opening her mouth wider, his tongue pushing in deep. One of his hands snakes into her hair and the other flicks open the button of her pants; he toys with her panty line for a moment, trailing his fingers across it, and she nips at the tip of his tongue with her teeth.

'Is the door locked?' she asks, an after thought, and he pulls back to look at her.

'Nope,' he says with a grin, and he holds her gaze while he slips his hand into her panties.

'Oh' she mutters, not caring in the least bit; if someone walks in they can damn well watch if they want to, she thinks, just as long as he doesn't stop.

'Someone could open that door any minute…want them to see what I'm doin' to you Ray?' he asks huskily, his fingers rubbing across her. She whimpers, biting her lip and letting her head fall back against the mirror, and he pushes two fingers inside her, watching her face contort as he does.

'Oh _God_.'

'Want someone to see me make you come?'

'Fuck, Deacon.'

'Mmm,' he growls, 'sounds good to me.'

He pulls his fingers out of her, slowly, dragging the moment out, and tugs her pants and her underwear down, lowering himself with them. Her knees wobble as he trails his tongue up her legs; her calves, the insides of her knees, her inner thighs, the flesh more sensitive with every inch he covers. His hands grip her thighs and push them further apart, and he looks up at her, breathing her in and wetting his lips. He gives her one long, slow lick, and she shudders violently.

Deacon stands, making sure to brush himself against Rayna as he does, and she's suddenly aware that she's completely naked and he's still wearing every item of his clothing.

'I need to feel you,' she says, clawing at his shirt buttons, but he grips her hands in his and stops her.

'Oh, you'll feel me baby…' he assures, and he slides his hands down to her ass, kneading it before he turns her away from him so she's facing the wall. He lifts her hands and presses her palms to the mirror, and she tips her head back, lust rushing through her every cell.

He steps close to her and covers her breasts with his hands, and she watches him watch his reflection as he massages them. His eyes are heavy, his mouth open, and he kisses her neck, his gaze never faltering.

'I love your breasts,' he says into her ear. 'Does it feel good when I do this?' He rolls his thumbs over her nipples, and her eyes flutter closed. She's fairly sure she nods, but all she can feel are the ripples of heat that make her rub herself against him, desperate for him, for more.

One of his hands moves down, skimming her stomach. 'You're so wet for me…' he says roughly, and his fingers dip inside her again quickly. She is breathing so heavily she sees stars; she watches him move them in and out of her, and they're slick, glistening in the light from the bulb above them. Her chest heaves, her stomach searing with the need for him, and right when she thinks she can't take it any more, he rips down his zipper and pulls her to him.

'Wanna watch me fuck you Ray?'

'Shit,' she pants, as he teases her with his tip. She won't last a minute longer, she knows it. 'Yeah…God Deacon, yeah…'

He doesn't need the hint, but he takes it anyway when she pushes her ass into him. He's buried inside her in all of a second, and she braces her hands on the mirror, cursing loudly. He's rock hard, and she throbs around him, trying to catch her breath.

'You feel so good,' he tells her, sucking the skin at the crook of her neck, his voice deep and uneven, his teeth leaving red marks.

The only answer Rayna can get out is a throaty moan, and she looks up at him, locking eyes with his reflection. He reaches around to her breasts again, his big hands closing over them while he rocks in and out of her, and she is so turned on she can barely stand it.

The smell of sex blooms heavy in the air, and all she can hear is their moans and him slapping against her. They fog up the mirror and she can see a blurred, hazy shimmer of them moving frantically against each other, smeared by her hand prints.

'Oh yeah,' Deacon grunts as he sinks into her as deep as he can. There is no patience for finesse, from either of them, and he is fast, his movements stretching her deliciously, his angle hitting her in exactly the right spot with every thrust.

'Oh God, Deacon,' she manages to get out, all too soon. 'I'm gonna come.' He groans and bucks into her, hard, his fingers digging into her hips. She isn't joking; she loses it a second later and he follows, collapsing against her, his breathing laboured.

They end up in a heap on the floor, Deacon kissing her face, her hair, her nose, and when she can form a thought again she laughs.

'Deacon,' she says, looking up at him and pursing her lips. 'Did you really lock that door?'

'Nope,' he replies, just as they hear footsteps outside.

'Bastard.'


End file.
